


oral fixation

by Kylaroid



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut, character exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylaroid/pseuds/Kylaroid
Summary: "Dom has a thing about mouths—something of an oral fixation. She can’t identify when it started, but her mother always says that she’s been sticking shit in her mouth since she was a kid. Toys, pens, pencils, lollipops, candy canes, fingers. Dom channels all of her pent up energy into her teeth."
Relationships: Darlene Alderson/Dominique DiPierro
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	oral fixation

**Author's Note:**

> dedicating this to grace gummer, her describing dom as having oral fixations was the inspiration for this awful fic, thank you grace. (i'm sorry)

Dom has a thing about mouths—something of an oral fixation. She can’t identify when it started, but her mother always says that she’s been sticking shit in her mouth since she was a kid. Toys, pens, pencils, lollipops, candy canes, fingers. Dom channels all of her pent up energy into her teeth. She used to have a real issue with chewing her fingers until high school. Biting her fingernails, nibbling at the flesh around the nail, pulling at hangnails. Sometimes it was conscious and other times she would chew on them without even realizing she was doing it until the iron taste of blood coated her lips.

Fingers were replaced by gum during high school—effectively helping her curb the finger biting habit. She liked the sensation of working it between her molars, over and over, until it softened completely. The repetition, the mindlessness of it. Near her senior years, she ran with a certain group of girls and tried smoking. It burned her lungs and irritated her throat and she couldn’t stand the coughing and the ashen taste it left on her tongue. But there was something about the motion of it all that piqued her fixation. The sensation of the cigarette between her lips, the rhythm of inhaling and feeling the chemical smoke pouring into her chest—and then out. Wafting out from between puckered lips and clouding up in the air. She would smoke conversationally, socially, but never picked it up as a habit. Too expensive—besides, she never developed a taste for the flavor of cigarettes.

She did, however, develop a taste for kissing. The way that her lips felt when they pressed against someone else’s—just a little moist, and warm, and soft. The slippery smooth sensation of tongues wrapping around each other. Her first high school boyfriend had stubble that scratched up against her skin when they kissed in an oddly satisfying sort of way. They used to make out in the back of his shitty truck. In retrospection, they spent more time making out than actually talking or doing anything else. She thinks she probably liked him better when he wasn’t talking. After they broke up, she experimented around with girls. Found she loved how smooth and gentle girls’ lips were and loved the little noises that came out of those lips. But her interest in girls stayed rather experimental throughout high school.

Dom’s always had a fascination with languages, which she delved into further during undergraduate college. She started with Spanish in high school and continued her studies in college along with Farsi. And when she entered law school, she dabbled in Chinese as well. She loved the way that foreign consonants and syllables rolled off her tongue – how she could manipulate her mouth to make new sounds and words. It was one of the reasons she got a double major in political science and linguistics. There was something about languages that made them feel like a satisfying puzzle to her—they could be broken down into parts, components. Most of them had organized rules and structures and she enjoyed finding the similarities between different languages. Just another thing that scratched at that itch dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Undergraduate college was the first time she went down on a girl. It was a house party and Dom had been drinking some unidentifiable mixed drink out of one of those shitty plastic red solo cups. A dare led to a kiss which led to some blonde she didn’t know leading her back to her bedroom. They stumbled out of their clothes and suddenly this girl was sprawled out—naked on the sheets. And Dom was so inexperienced and uncertain and felt completely out of her depth. But alcohol coursed through her system and gave her the encouragement she so desperately needed. Her hands pressed against this girl’s thighs—trembling with nervous energy and anticipation and desire as she parted them. Licked at her until her jaw was sore and her tongue ached. Thought she might suffocate with her nose flush to the woman’s skin, but stayed determined to continue. Adored all the textures and tastes on her tongue—tangy and just a little sweet—velvety smooth in some places, wrinkled in others, and the firm warm clit that throbbed against her mouth. Dom was messy and unskilled and loved every second—her eyes glazed over with alcoholic haze and lusty desire. And eventually, the blonde came—bucking and grinding into her mouth with a symphony of expletives and whimpers and moans.

Once she started working at the FBI cybercrime division, snacks became her new form of oral obsession. Lollipops helped to keep her energy levels up with the lack of sleep and kept her mouth occupied. Something to suck on while her mind riddled through theories about 5/9 and the Dark Army and whiterose and FSociety. They coated her tongue in a sticky artificial sweetness that was almost addictive. When she wasn’t swirling a lollipop around the inside of her cheeks, she was eating turkey sandwiches or downing five-hour energy shots or chewing on melatonin gummies. Always something to keep her going.

She ditched the lollipops after shit hit the fan with the Dark Army. Dom didn’t have an appetite anymore and her anxiety kept her awake—whether she wanted to be or not. Instead, she chewed on the ends of pens as she frantically jotted down license plate numbers. Felt the sweet taste of her mother’s wine hitting her tongue. Went back to chewing on her fingers as the images of Irving axing her mother or Dark Army foot soldiers shooting her family flooded her mind—preoccupying her thoughts most days and nights.

Mouths, lips, tongues, tastes. So many tastes that Christmas. The bitter metallic taste of blood that coated her mouth as she lay on the floor with Darlene’s hands pressed to her chest. The taste of a burnt grilled cheese she had been craving for months finally settled—warm in her hands. Darlene’s lips, sweet and ashen and a little cold from the crisp winter air, suddenly pressed against hers as they sat on a park bench. Salty tears that rolled down her cheeks and onto her lips as she watched—open-mouthed—as the incorrigible and darling hacker disappeared into the airport crowd.

Her fascination with languages peaked again when she visited Budapest. Within the first twenty-four hours she had bought a few books on how to speak Hungarian—or Magyar as she came to know it—and worked her way to a conversational level over a period of a couple months. In between visiting the baths and museums and markets and all other variety of tourist attractions, she practiced. On the metro, on walks, while she worked out, late into the night. Magyar was an interesting challenge—a flexible and complicated language that felt so unique and different from the other dialects she had under her belt. Heavy and long with so many consonants—but figuring it out gave her something to work on during her vacation. Her time in Budapest also helped to reacquaint her with food. Dishes in Hungary were heavy and hearty and delicious—stews and soups and a diversity of baked goods. Spicy and hot and filled with spices that made her tongue tingle and mouth water and left the tip of her tongue numb the next day. Much of the food was heavy and meaty and fried, which helped her gain back some of the weight she lost that winter.

And now here she was, at her latest and _favorite_ oral fix, settled between Darlene’s legs. Dom’s fingers wrap around the brunette’s thigh and lift it—easily—up and over her shoulder, granting her better access. Her tongue slips out and runs the length of Darlene’s lips—satisfied at the audible shudder Darlene makes at the contact. She had freshly shaven and the stubble of her folds pricks at her tongue in a satisfying manner. Brings her tongue lower again and laps at the slick sweet sheen leaking from her cunt. Dom could never identify the taste—perhaps faintly metallic, a touch bitter, and rather musky—like bourbon. Whatever the taste was, Dom can’t get enough of it. Darlene’s wetness on her tongue is smooth and delicious—her drug of choice. Her mouth trails up and she flicks the tip of her tongue against the brunette’s clit—drowning in the soft whimpers Darlene makes. Her pace is slow—each touch and graze and lick deliberate and light. Nimble fingers with painted nails reach out and nestle in her fiery locks—coaxing her on.

“ _Shit_ , Dom—don’t be a tease.” Darlene groans, writhing pleasurably under her touch. Dom smiles against her at those words. Darlene has such a tendency to be impatient. She understands—they’re the same, after all. Headstrong and reckless and determined to get _exactly_ what they want. But Dom wants to savor this.

“Just be patient.” She mutters back, her breath hot as it hits up against Darlene’s center. She thinks that she hears the other woman scoff, but it’s hard to decipher from all the other noises she’s making. The agent reunites her mouth with Darlene’s clit—her tongue winding hard against her. The pressure makes Darlene gasp—her hips rolling up into Dom’s mouth as her shoulders press into the mattress. “Oh— _fuck—_ " That whimper provokes a warm aching desire that radiates between Dom’s legs. She sucks air in from between her teeth and snakes a hand into her own pants. Finds her clit and presses her fingers against it—rubbing with a needy fervor. “ _Mmh_ —” A faint moan inks out of her throat as she keeps her mouth glued to Darlene’s clit—her tongue lovingly tending to the sensitive bud. 

There’s something rhythmic to going down on someone that Dom has always loved. That same rhythmic motion that she found in gum and lollipops and cigarettes and hangnails. The back and forth of her tongue against Darlene’s clit—only interrupted to switch up the pattern. To run her tongue in little circles or flick in a different direction or press her lips around it to suck. But the rhythmic sensation of flesh against her tongue—she loves it. The experience is made only more euphoric knowing that it’s Darlene who is melting under her touch—it’s Darlene that she’s tasting and savoring. That bristly and spirited and shrewd hacker that entered her life with a spray of gunfire and under wildfire circumstances. Young and beautiful with a quick-witted tongue. “Jesus, babe—” Darlene pants, the words trembling as they slither out from her throat. Every sound makes the ginger’s head spin—spurring her fingers to stroke herself harder, faster.

Dom wants to keep hearing those noises—wants Darlene to feel even better. To drown her in utterly licentious bliss. She shimmies out her free hand and snakes two fingers inside of the brunette. A groan hitches in Darlene’s throat at the entry and her hips twist to get Dom’s fingers where they need to be. Her digits scissor around—pleased at how relaxed she already is—and then curl. Furling around until she finds that rough spot that makes the thorny hacker soften. “Oh my god, babe, _fuck_ —” Darlene whimpers, the fingers tangled up in Dom’s hair digging in with forcefulness. The pressure is making her lips grow sore, but she’s too preoccupied with the taste of Darlene on her tongue and the pleasurable sensation of her own fingers to pay much heed to the ache.

Darlene’s breath is thick—heavy with arousal and coming to her quicker and quicker. Her chest heaving and body quivering—glistening with sweat. Both of her hands are now settled on Dom’s head—using her as leverage as she grinds her hips up against the agent’s mouth. Each furl and unfurl of her fingers coax her closer to the edge of ecstasy. Dom quickens the pace on her own clit—desperate to get to the same place Darlene is at—eager to release at the same time. It isn’t hard to get there with the sounds of Darlene’s moans burning her ears. A whimper rumbles in her throat and slips out against Darlene’s flesh.

Dom’s tongue is messy—imprecise and a little weary—but entirely determined to lick her to full satisfaction. “Shit!” Darlene whines—exhaling hard as her body gives a few harsh jolts. Dom can feel her cunt clenching around her fingers and she rides the waves of that orgasm—her tongue winding against her clit and her fingers rubbing that rough bundle of nerves. Darlene lifts her shoulders off the mattress, squealing as Dom’s touch coaxes her into a second wave of pleasure. “Oh my god—Dom—” She drawls—her hands gripping the back of Dom’s head to keep her in place. The sensation of Darlene grinding in her mouth and her fingers holding her in a vise is just enough to tip Dom over the edge. She shudders against her own fingers—sweet moans droning out as her tongue sloppily swirls against Darlene. That position is held for a few more precious moments as they ride out the waves of their orgasms and then they collapse into the sheets. Muscles finally granted a chance to relax and breath coming slow and heavy to them.

After a moment of rest, Darlene sits up—still shaky—and runs a hand through her messy brown locks. Exhales and meets Dom’s eyes—a tired pleasurable contentedness riddled across her face.

“Jesus, Dom, you really know how to use your mouth, huh?”


End file.
